


Release Me

by OhMaven



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Burns, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMaven/pseuds/OhMaven
Summary: Roy Mustang honors a very brutal request from a woman he admires more than almost anyone.





	

“ _Please, release me._ ”

No one had ever spoken to him with such raw sincerity before. Mustang hadn't known how to answer, and Riza Hawkeye had continued to entreat him to do something he wasn't sure he _could_ do. For all the things he had used his alchemy for, all the lives he'd taken, the flesh he'd burned...could he really put someone he admired through so much pain? He hadn't trusted himself to speak, so he'd only dipped his chin in assent.

Those brown eyes of hers had warmed considerably; she was _relieved_ that he had just agreed to burn the flesh right off her back. So here they were, standing in a quiet room – as sterile of one as could be found now – with a bottle of whiskey, a bowl, and first aid supplies on a low table.

“What's this for,” Hawkeye asked, finger running lightly over the rim of the large porcelain bowl. He could see that she was nervous, but also that she was determined. “I almost thought it would have water in it, or something.”

Mustang didn't answer for a long moment, working the top of the whiskey bottle loose. “It's in case I don't have the stomach for this.”

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but the slight arch of Hawkeye's eyebrow didn't seem judgmental. In fact, he'd almost swear that there was more amusement in the movement than anything. With a soft _pop_ the cork came loose; one hand set the corkscrew aside while the other tipped the bottle against his lips. He swallowed the harsh liquid and the bile that rose, knowing what would come next, and then offered it to Hawkeye. She licked her lips, and then took two sizable swallows.

Ordinarily, he would admire a woman who could drink like that.  
  
He didn't need more reasons to admire this one.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this?” His deep voice was rough, but not unkind. Mustang didn't know anymore _who_ he was trying to spare from this ordeal. It didn't really matter, so long as this simply _didn't happen_.

“I'm sure.” Hawkeye's voice was so steady. Almost...peaceful. Almost like the young girl he'd known long before they had both become the killers they were today. She had turned her back to him, but he could see from the way her back and arms moved that she was disrobing her upper body. The fabric of her shirt dipped below her shoulders, the stark ink of her father's work peering from beneath the collar. He waited until she had untucked the shirt and thrown it over the chair shoved under the table; her arms curled protectively over her breasts. “I'm _ready_.”

Mustang closed the scant distance between them; his fingers lightly touched the tattoo she bore. “I'll remove the most important pieces, cause the least amount of damage I can.”

“I know.”  
  
There was so much confidence in her voice, more confidence in his skills than _he_ possessed. He was accurate with a firestorm, but could he coax a mere tendril of flame to scour the last vestiges of her father from her skin? He swallowed again, feeling his bile creeping up despite himself. Finally, his finger stopped. “Here.”  
  
Beneath his touch, her muscles tensed. His heart pounded, but Mustang wanted to use his talents to help, and it started right here, right now, with _this_ woman. Lifting his hand away, he rubbed his fingers together; flames leapt from the friction, leapt onto her skin, licked across the heavy swirls of ink. Hawkeye didn't scream, but her hands left her chest to clench over her mouth. Mustang didn't know if she was muffling the sounds she had to be making, or if she was trying not to be sick. He couldn't concentrate on anything except the work she had asked of him.Under the flames, her skin bubbled; ink melted, became illegible. Mustang diligently worked; when her knees gave out, his free arm caught her about the waist. Time moved slowly in those moments, an eternity of her weight in one arm and the fire directed by the other.  
  
When it was done, Hawkeye was mercifully unconscious. Mustang felt as though he'd never moved more carefully than he did when he took her weight entirely in his arms, settled her on the table in the room they had used for such an ugly purpose. He tried to breathe deeply to prevent from retching when he saw the mess he'd made of her back; it only served to draw the scent of her burnt flesh into his nose. Gagging only once, the alchemist got himself under control, and reached for the salve he'd procured in preparation for this, carefully layering it on the woman he'd burned so badly. It seemed to take as long to ease the ruined flesh as it had to ruin in the first place, but he moved with no less diligence. This, too, was important. It was a deal he'd made with himself in order to cope with hurting Riza Hawkeye, the very woman who had allowed him to become this in the first place.

Finished, he stepped back, and bent to look into her face. Riza's eyes were still closed, but as he moved away, she caught his fingers in her free hand.

“Thank you, Roy.” It was almost as soft as the sound of her breathing, almost as soft as the peaceful expression she bore despite the pain. “Thank you.”


End file.
